


A Name on the Wind

by ExaltedBrand



Series: March 2021 Promptathon [11]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Caught, F/F, Ficlet, Friends to Lovers, Masturbation, Moaning Someone's Name Just a Little Too Loudly, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Seduction, Undressing, Vaginal Fingering, Y'shtola is Blind-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:27:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29978046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExaltedBrand/pseuds/ExaltedBrand
Summary: Just prior to leaving Mol Iloh, Y’shtola happens upon Cirina in an unusual state.
Relationships: Cirina Mol/Y'shtola Rhul
Series: March 2021 Promptathon [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2188869
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	A Name on the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt: Y'shtola/Cirina, Caught in the Act**

“Do excuse me, Cirina. I believe I heard you calling my name.”

By the time Cirina had become aware of Y’shtola’s presence—aware of her shape at the entrance to her tent, aware of how long she’d been standing there, aware of how much she’d seen—it was far too late. Far too late to make herself presentable; far too late to give the illusion of decency. Far too late, most of all, to draw her robes back down from her waist – and to pretend that she hadn’t been partaking in such a shameless act.

She’d only meant to indulge in a silly fantasy; to work through a few fleeting feelings over someone she’d met only so briefly. It hadn’t occurred to her, in all her excitement, that the Scions hadn’t yet departed from Mol Iloh.

“Y’shtola,” she stammered, feebly attempting to conceal herself in the dim light. “Nay – nay, I fear you are… mistaken. Yes… quite mistaken…!”

Y’shtola’s eyes drifted down—those pale, milky irises that seemed to see so little and so much all at once—and settled at last on the hand pushed up between Cirina’s legs, fingers glistening with something altogether unsightly. Slowly, softly, her lips curled up into a smile.

“Mistaken, am I? How very curious. These ears are wont to play tricks on me at times, but these eyes… I think not.”

She stepped forward into the tent, approaching the Mol khan with her usual languid grace, and Cirina felt her heart sink deep into her stomach and her skin grow clammy.

“I think,” Y’shtola said, “that there is much you wish to tell me.”

Cirina swallowed. “I – I know not what you mean, Y’shtola.”

The miqo’te leaned in close, taking her firmly by the chin and looking into her eyes. Her breath, brushing against Cirina’s cheek, smelled like mint and lavender – sweet and fresh.

“You need hardly pretend, Cirina. We are allies, are we not? Then let us be honest with one another.”

She drew closer still, so that their faces were barely an inch apart; and she reached for the hem of Cirina’s robe, hanging loosely around her slender frame.

“If you would like my assistance, as a faithful friend to our cause,” she whispered, a mischievous edge to her voice, “you need only ask for it.”

Her fingers slipped low, then lower – and then Cirina gasped as they slid beneath her panties, tracing the wet, sensitive line of her slit. Her body convulsed at the sudden contact, and her hand closed tightly around the conjurer’s wrist, but she couldn’t bring herself to push her away.

“Please,” she begged, trembling as Y’shtola’s fingertips stroked up and down her sex at a languid pace. “Must you… must you tease me so…?”

“Tease you?” Y’shtola murmured, gazing at her intently. “On the contrary, Cirina, I’m only asking a question.”

As she spoke, her fingers gently parted the outer lips of her folds, exposing the swollen nub of her clit – and then Cirina bit her lip and groaned as Y’shtola’s thumb brushed over it, rolling back and forth and working in slow, torturous circles.

“A-ah…” she murmured. “Oh… Y-Y’shtola, that’s…”

“Would you like me to continue, Cirina?” she asked, so close that every soft syllable brushed against the Xaela’s skin. “To grant you that which you crave?”

Speechless, shuddering, Cirina could only nod – and Y’shtola smiled, satisfied.

“Then open your legs,” she whispered.

Wordlessly, Cirina complied, spreading her legs wide – and winced as the miqo’te’s fingers slid into her drenched sex and pushed deep into her aching core. She let out a long sigh as Y’shtola explored her, closing her eyes and trying to keep from moaning too loudly; but a few whimpers slipped out as the pace increased, slick and rapid and _wonderful_ , and she couldn’t help but grind her hips into the other woman’s hand.

“Y-yes…” she gasped, tossing her head back and shaking as Y’shtola’s fingers moved with preternatural skill. Her folds quivered around the digits, her juices sliding down into the conjurer’s palm, and she could feel an intense heat aching inside her – a tension in her body growing, building, tightening like a bow drawn to its limits.

But still Y’shtola continued, leaning in, pressing the whole weight of her body against Cirina; her eyes never straying even as she worked with an almost unsettling accuracy.

“You’re trembling,” she whispered. “Are you close, Cirina?”

Again, Cirina couldn’t form an answer; could only grunt and whimper like a helpless beast, lost in a whirlwind of desire and ecstacy. She was too far gone to speak – and Y’shtola seemed content not to force her.

“Our friend tells me that you, too, were offered quite a forward proposal by the head of the Oronir tribe – Magnai, was it?” She paused for a moment, focusing on her ministrations and letting Cirina’s sweet sounds soak the air; then chuckled softly. “How mortifying this would be to him. To learn that his two would-be Nhaamas would rather enjoy each other than stomach even a minute more of his… _radiant_ presence…”

It was all too much. The sound of the other woman’s voice, so calm and deep. Her skilful fingers, stroking every contour of her folds with such calculated intent. The warmth of her breath, tingling against her cheeks, and the heat of her body, pressing so firmly against her own.

And as Y’shtola’s thumb pressed down hard against Cirina’s clit and her fingers finally found that perfect sweet spot, the taut bowstring holding her together snapped – and she came with a breathless cry, spiralling over the edge.

When she fell forward, Y’shtola caught her. For a moment, her whole body went limp, and she was tempted to close her eyes and drift off into a shameful sleep; but then the aching between her legs resumed, hungry for more, and she no longer had the patience for niceties.

She was glad, then, that the conjurer—ever so slowly unfastening her robes—seemed to know precisely what she wanted.


End file.
